


Maybe it's a Cruel Joke on Me

by Joyd



Series: Undergrad AU [3]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Multi, Pre-Threesome, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joyd/pseuds/Joyd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"That’s not something you just say to someone as you sit in their bed naked, where you just fucked your mutual best friend."</i>
</p>
<p>Yet another case of "You could have avoided this if you'd just <i>talked</i> about it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe it's a Cruel Joke on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lethargicProfessor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicProfessor/gifts).



> For the prompt: _"Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…”_
> 
> I actually hate the trope of miscommunication leading to huge problems and no resolution for chapters at a time, it's so frustrating.  
> Thankfully, this isn't one of those.

Winters has always had trouble with his temper, this is just a fact that he’s learned to live with, and it’s not so much that he loses it over small things. No, it’s that when he does lose it, he can get more than a little violent towards, well, everything, but it also doesn’t last longer than half an hour, at most. He’s had anger management classes since middle school, and he’s gotten a lot better at applying the techniques they taught at keeping a cool head even when he’s _livid_.

He is really, truly, struggling to remember even the most simple of exercises right now. 

A small part of him is immensely thankful that he left his bag on the couch when he walked in, because he’s positive he would have flung it straight at Cross Marian’s fucking head the second he registered what he was seeing. That would, undoubtedly, have broken his laptop on impact with the man’s stupid _fucking_ face. He’s come to expect a lot of grief from the weirdos he calls his friends, but _naked in his bed_ somehow never crossed his mind as a possibility. He’s not sure how he could have had so much faith in the redhead, given they’ve known each other almost two and a half years now, but he’s definitely regretting it now. 

“Before you decide to murder me, let me explain…” His thoughts must be pretty clear on his face for even Cross to pick up on them despite his over-inflated ego. 

Or maybe he just noticed the faint squealing of his teeth as he grinds them together. 

“We wanted to talk to you, but then you stayed late in class and we got tired of waiting.” He whips his head around to see Klaud Nine leaning against the door frame of his bathroom, equally as naked as Cross and completely unapologetic about it. 

If he weren’t so _gods damned pissed_ he’d definitely enjoy the sight more, but as it is he can really only focus on the fact that his friends _fucked in his bed, what the hell._

Klaud does manage to look a _bit_ apologetic as she glances at Cross and back to him, offering a small smile that only quells his temper a bit. Klaud, at least, he trusts to have a _damn good_ explanation, even if he’d rather just punch Cross and be done with it. He tilts his head to show he’s listening, not trusting himself to speak, despite that trust in her. 

“It’s… a bit complicated, I admit, but…” She trails off, glancing askance of Cross, and he can see that she does have an explanation, even if she doesn’t know how to word it, and it’s Cross’ turn to come to her rescue in his usual blunt force manner. 

“We would have included you, but you were late. Get back on time next time.” The nonchalance he says it with is betrayed by the way he’s looking anywhere but at Winters and the white knuckle grip he has on the top sheet. 

Winters doesn’t notice, though, because he’s pretty sure his brain may have just flat-lined. All of his anger has disappeared, turned into bewilderment as he tries to wrap his head around that one, because he couldn’t have heard him right. That’s not something you just _say_ to someone as you sit in their bed _naked_ , where you just fucked your mutual best friend. 

Your mutual best friend who, _apparently_ , also wants to fuck _you_. 

“...¿Qué?” 

A small hand on his arm draws his attention to Klaud, who took his distraction as a chance to step up beside him. She gives him a sympathetic smile, shrugging slightly and drawing his attention back to her state of undress. All that interest that was drowned by his earlier anger has returned with a vengeance with nothing to buffer it, and his mouth has gone dry as he realizes that -if they’re really not messing with him- this might not be the only time he sees her… everything, really. He shakes it off to actually focus on what she’s saying, keenly aware that Cross is suddenly much more willing to look his - _their_ , way. 

“I know it could have been better said, and we definitely should have waited and talked about it properly, but… well, he’s not _wrong_.” She looks down at where her hand is still resting on his bicep and squeezes it lightly, “We know it’s a bit unconventional, but we’ve talked about it and we’d both like to try. The three of us together, that is.” 

He looks back over to Cross for confirmation, and is suddenly very aware that Cross is _naked in his bed_ all over again, but in a much different view. It’s so easy to picture them both there, and he doesn’t even have to struggle to fill the gaps now. He knows them both well enough -or he’d like to think he does- to picture them _together_ , all three of them, how they’d move against each other and how they’d act and _react_ , to each other and to him. 

He _wants_ that, fiercely and desperately. So strongly, in fact, that it makes him a little light-headed to think about it. 

He shakes himself mentally, drags himself back to reality, and finds both of them staring at him, expectant and nervous and braced for rejection and anger. Neither of them are particularly good at letting themselves be vulnerable, emotionally or otherwise, and he feels himself relax and soften despite himself. It doesn’t stop him from rolling his eyes and huffing when they both perk up like the puppies they secretly are, though, eager and hopeful and way too predictable. 

“You’re both shit at this.” He enunciates it as clearly as he can while pulling his shirt off over his head, and ignores Cross’ triumphant grin in favor of hauling Klaud up and over his shoulder by her waist, and her subsequent shriek of protest and fists against his back are equally as ignored while he walks to the bed. “Idiots.” 


End file.
